


The Knitted Locks

by Emelye



Category: Far from the Madding Crowd (2015)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friends to Lovers, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, pregnancy loss, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: “To put it bluntly, with Bathsheba gone, the courts rather feel, and I tend to agree, that my brother no longer poses a danger to himself or others. He’s receiving a conditional release. I’m meant to collect him in the morning.”
Relationships: William Boldwood/Gabriel Oak
Comments: 22
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

There had been no rain in a fortnight. The hot September air withered the corn on the stalk. The barley grew brittle and the wheat was dying. No matter how Farmer Oak scraped and cursed at the dry ground, he could see he was fighting a losing battle against a pitiless sun.

He drew a filthy cloth from a dusty pocket in his trousers and mopped at the sweat on his brow turning the brown, parched, earth upon his skin to streaks and gashes of mud. 

He returned the cloth to his pocket and surveyed the men still working the land, scratching the dirt and cutting the dead stalks until they carpeted the rows like a poorly woven mat. He stretched the toil from his limbs, supported his aching back and lifted his face to the unforgiving sky. 

A cloud of dust on the horizon. Someone was coming.

Gabriel whistled the signal to come in for the noon meal. His long legs ate up the ground between the field and the road as he hurried to the gate of the main house. Chickens pecked the yard clean of vegetation under the watchful eyes of young girls with dirty aprons. 

His beard itched and he scratched at it as he made his way to the pump. A young boy scrambled to prime the pump for him, and water sluiced over his outstretched hands as he reached it, scrubbing them clean and applying the same treatment to his weathered face. 

“Go on now. Join the others in the kitchen before it’s all gone.”

The boy ran off, the girls soon following, leaving Gabriel alone in the yard to watch the approaching cloud of dust grow larger. 

The sound of hoofbeats and the clattering of wheels were soon audible. A carriage then, and a large one, he thought. 

As it drew into view he approached the road, unsurprised when it stopped before him. The driver alighted stiffly. It had been a long journey, Gabriel wagered. The driver opened the carriage door and extended his hand to the passenger. A gloved hand appeared, followed by a dark blue sleeve, and finally the woman it belonged to. Her hair was a riot of dark curls only just showing the first signs of silvering about the temples. Her eyes were stern but well-lined with laughter. She couldn’t be called beautiful, but she made a striking figure, Gabriel thought. 

“Lady Keith, I didn’t know you were coming.”

Ordinarily Gabriel would have expected an upbraiding for the assumption that she was required to inform him of her intent to look in on her property. It was a carefully choreographed dance they had perfected over the decade. Instead she said nothing, and simply fixed him with a weary look.

“Your home or mine, I care not which, but I must sit down, and I believe we’d both appreciate something to drink.”

“Of course,” said Gabriel. “Please come inside.” The study was closest, and Gabriel was quick to pour her a cognac. 

“You won’t join me?” she asked.

Gabriel followed her gaze to the decanters, many of which were quite nearly empty and had not yet been refilled. Coloring, Gabriel poured a small measure of whisky for himself and took a seat across from her. “Is everything all right?”

She laughed once, darkly, muffled by her glass. “Only you, Gabriel, would ask me such a thing not six months after putting your own wife in the ground.”

Gabriel sighed deeply and scrubbed his face. “I received your card.”

“Oh, did you? I’m glad to hear it. The sentiment was quite sincere.”

“Is that why you came?”

Lady Keith smiled sadly. “We haven’t spoken much on the subject of my brother over the years. I hardly wanted to upset your dear wife, rest her soul, nor yourself.”

Gabriel’s face fell. “Is he…”

“My brother is alive.”

Gabriel felt relief. “Then why—”

“He is ill. Has been now, for some time. I didn’t say anything to you or Bathsheba for obvious reasons, but I’ve been petitioning for his release so that he can seek medical attention. Until recently all my petitions were summarily denied.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“The damp and cold of the prison have not been kind. It’s settled in his lungs and the coughing has made him weak. He’s lost nearly two stone.”

“You say the judge denied you only until recently?”

Lady Keith looked somewhat ill at ease. “To put it bluntly, with Bathsheba gone, the courts rather feel, and I tend to agree, that my brother no longer poses a danger to himself or others. He’s receiving a conditional release. I’m meant to collect him in the morning.”

“That’s a long drive. You’ll not be staying then.”

Lady Keith traced the pattern on the crystal. “I need to ask a favor of you, Gabriel. You’re an honest man and I’ve learned to depend upon that quality of yours. I mean to bring my brother home to Little Weatherbury, but I cannot stay. Will you look after him in my stead?”

Gabriel answered with no hesitation. “Of course.”

“And continue on as bailiff? This has not been an easy summer, I’m sure your duties are manifold.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Gabriel—”

Gabriel took a drink. “Do you want my help or not?”

Lady Keith frowned into her lap. “You understand he’ll need quite a lot of care. I can stay a few days, help my brother establish himself at home, but most of his recovery will be entirely dependent upon you.”

Gabriel’s hand clutched upon his knee. The afternoon sun moved in it’s courses and shed long shadows across the room. A long beam of sunlight cast upon the mantle and upon the trinkets Bathsheba had placed there. Motes of dust hung in the air behind Lady Keith against a backdrop of bookshelves long neglected.

“That will be fine.” He tried to smile. 

“Would you come with me to Portland? I fear the condition in which my brother will be returned to me, and I would appreciate the company.”

Gabriel nodded assent. “Give me a few moments to make myself presentable. Have your man change the horses if he likes.”

He rose and her hand on his elbow stopped him. “Gabriel, thank you for this.”

He wanted to say something comforting, something profound. Something about them being united in their hardship.

He nodded awkwardly and patted her hand before taking his leave.

It was a long drive to Portland. The carriage bounced uncomfortably along the road, the salt and sea eventually greening the landscape, slicking the cobbles and eroding the rock. Gabriel slept most of the journey. Lady Keith did not. She stared out the window of the carriage at the dim and misty horizon as if willing her brother to appear. She was beautiful in her grief. Gabriel envied her that. Grief had made him thinner. Harder. He felt like one of the stalks of corn languishing in his field, unyielding and brittle. 

The road gentled suddenly, the wheels of the carriage finding the worn ruts of the road onto the island which flooded so frequently all imperfections were worn smooth under the pressure of water and waves. The sound of a train whistle announced the travels of holiday-makers taking the sea air and enjoying the entertainment of the convicts in close proximity. Gabriel shuddered at the grotesquery of it all.

The prison itself rose from the mist upon the hillside like a great henge of stone chimneys. Two large buildings of gray stone were guarded by a long wall of the same, and set into that some ways ahead, was the main gate. It was a grand and proud edifice of the State and seemed to proclaim itself thusly to all who passed it. Gabriel had never felt so tempted to spit upon a building.

Gabriel had visited only once before, and it had been enough to fill him with revulsion for the institution and those who ran it. 

Five years previous on a day very similar to this one Gabriel had made the journey at Bathsheba’s behest. Mr. Boldwood had been wearied by his imprisonment, and aged, but despite his outward appearance he gave every impression of a gentleman receiving guests at home. He was as courteous and solicitous as he’d ever been, and Gabriel had felt compelled to confide in him as if no time had passed at all and they were once again farmer and bailiff in the study of Little Weatherbury.

“We’re having a child, Bathsheba and I,” he’d said.

Mr. Boldwood had beamed with pleasure. “Congratulations, Gabriel. I’m very happy for the both of you. Truly.”

“You’re very gracious to say so.”

If he was jealous, he gave no indication. “You are...worthy of her, if any man be so.”

“She wants to name the child after you,” said Gabriel.

“I hardly know what to say.” He’d appeared genuinely surprised.

“Say yes.”

“Of course. Yes, I’m honored.” He rubbed at his wrists and Gabriel noticed they were red and raw. 

“You’re injured?”

“Hm? Oh. No, not at all.”

“Sir—”

“It’s a minor infection, nothing to trouble yourself over.”

Gabriel would not be dissuaded so easily. “What happened?”

He looked away. His face when he turned back was one of embarrassment. “Bites. Happens while we sleep. Nothing to be done for it, really, though it’s sometimes damnably uncomfortable.”

Gabriel was horrified. “Those are from rat bites?”

He shook his head. “No. They...they restrained me. To the bed when I refused to sleep. I was… I was afraid of the rats biting me. The... the straps were a bit tight.”

Gabriel was speechless. “That’s barbaric.”

“It’s a prison.”

There was nothing he could say to that.

Bathsheba miscarried two months later.

The heavy iron gate of the prison opened with a resounding clang of metal on metal and William Boldwood slowly made his way across the prison yard. He was greyer than before, as if the stone of his prison walls had leached the color from him bit by bit. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if pained. His clothes were the same he’d entered wearing, though they fairly hung on him, thin as he’d grown.

His feet shuffled when he walked, as if they’d forgotten how to move unshackled. He repeatedly chafed his arms as if compelled to warm himself or simply assure himself they remained attached. His gaze darted from side to side seeming to watch for an unseen assailant. 

Gabriel clenched his fists. 

Boldwood tripped and stumbled over a stone in the path and without thinking Gabriel rushed forward intent on helping him when he was stopped by the guards, thrusting their rifles into his chest. “I was only trying to help,” he pleaded. 

“Step back, sir.”

With a growl of frustration Gabriel did so. Lady Keith set her hand on his arm.

It seemed an age before Mr. Boldwood crossed the final yard to the main gate. The guard unlocked the gate and ushered him through before closing and locking it again with a clang of finality.

“William,” cried Lady Keith, rushing to her brother’s side and embracing him. There was a moment’s hesitation before Mr. Boldwood brought his arms up to embrace her in return.

“Libby,” he said. “It’s very good to see you.” He held her tightly, as if to assure himself she was real. For a moment, Gabriel wondered if he couldn’t bring himself to let her go, when their embrace was broken by a wracking cough that shook Mr. Boldwood’s body and doubled him over. Both Gabriel and Lady Keith made to assist him and were rebuffed by his outstretched hand. “A moment, please, just a moment.”

“We should get out of the damp air,” suggested Gabriel. 

Boldwood, still winded, nodded agreement and the three of them climbed into the waiting carriage.

A melancholy pall settled over the occupants as the carriage made the return journey to Weatherbury. Mr. Boldwood had fallen asleep upon Gabriel’s shoulder within mere minutes and showed every sign of remaining asleep until they arrived. 

Lady Keith was fretful in the way of women too refined to be outwardly so. She did not fidget with her reticule, but sat perfectly still as if in defiance of the urge. She did not look mournfully upon her brother in his exhausted sleep, but studiously focused her attention on the changing scenery outside the window. 

Gabriel had never been so refined, but neither had he any wish to disturb Mr. Boldwood’s slumber. “Would you rather hire a nurse?” he asked her.

She startled from her reverie. “No. No I don’t think I would. Do you suppose I ought to?”

It was Gabriel’s turn to look toward the gulls diving over the beaches.

“He trusts you, you know. He always has,” she assured him.

“Perhaps he shouldn’t.”

“Gabriel—”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said, meeting her eyes at last. The sympathy he saw was too painful to bear. He looked away again. “I only pray it will be sufficient.”

Gabriel felt a small hand patting his knee gently. “That’s all I can ask.”

It was very late when they at last arrived in Weatherbury. Even over the noise of the wheels they could hear the crickets and beetles singing in the fields. Lady Keith rose to signal the driver to stop at the gate of Everdene Farm but Gabriel stopped her with a hand on her arm. Mr. Boldwood was once again asleep on his shoulder, having roused only once for a brief stop near Weymouth. The carriage continued on to Little Weatherbury, slowing and eventually stopping before the front door. 

Gabriel gently patted Mr. Boldwood’s arm. “We’ve arrived, sir. You’re home now.”

The man roused slowly, looking around to gain his bearings. “Home,” he echoed.

Lady Keith looked at Gabriel a trifle desperately. Despite her assurances that she would stay, Gabriel surmised she was daunted by the task of caring for her brother. 

“Turner,” he called out, the man having come to direct the driver to the stables and take the bags. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t mind the bags, I’ll bring them along in a moment. Please have a maid run a bath for Mr. Boldwood and make sure Lady Keith’s usual room is prepared for her.”

“Already saw to it myself.”

“Thank you, Turner. I’ll get Mr. Boldwood settled and come back for the luggage.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, sir, I’ll have one of the boys down in a moment.”

“If you’re certain?” Turner waved him away and Gabriel turned back to his traveling companions.

“You’ve made yourself quite at home, it seems,” said Mr. Boldwood.

Gabriel flushed. “Forgive me if I overstepped.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “It’s...good to have you here, Gabriel.”

“I’m glad I can be of service,” he said, truthfully.

The house had been aired earlier in the day per Gabriel’s instructions. Mr. Boldwood and Lady Keith stood in the front hall looking around at the house and at one another as if lost in thought. The gas lights had been dimmed for the evening and the only sounds were the ticking of the large grandfather clock and the sound of the groaning of the plumbing as the maid prepared the bath. 

“So little has changed,” said Mr. Boldwood to himself. “As if no time has passed at all.”

Lady Keith took his elbow. “Rather as if we’d only returned from a holiday at the seaside with Father.”

Mr. Boldwood turned to his sister in surprise as if he hadn’t even considered such a recollection himself. Lady Keith gave Gabriel a pained smile. “I believe I will turn in for the night. Good night, William. Gabriel,” she said, kissing her brother’s cheek. 

“Good night, Libby.”

“Lady Keith.”

They watched her ascend the stairs and then Mr. Boldwood was struck by a fit of coughing and Gabriel was all action, drawing him to a chair in the main parlor and pouring him a large brandy, Gabriel practically tipping it down his throat when his hands shook to reach for it. The drink calmed his paroxysms and Mr. Boldwood pushed the glass away. “I’m fine,” he said.

“If you’re sure. The bath is likely filled,” Gabriel offered. “You may feel improved after bathing.”

Mr. Boldwood looked puzzled. “That seems awfully quick. Was a bath plumbed in?”

Gabriel smiled. “Lady Keith insisted once she began to visit more frequently.”

Mr. Boldwood laughed darkly but relented, following Gabriel to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. “I’ll leave you to it. Do you want me to fetch your dressing gown for you?” Gabriel asked.

“Please,” he said.

The master bedroom should have been much as Mr. Boldwood left it as there had been little activity there apart from cleaning. His dressing gown hung inside the wardrobe. Gabriel draped it over his arm when he heard a mighty crash and a scream of rage.

Gabriel ran back to the bathroom and forced the door. Mr. Boldwood howled with pain and sorrow as he cradled his fist to his chest. The mirror over the washbasin had shattered. Glass shards littered the stand and the floor and stood embedded in Mr. Boldwood’s freely bleeding fist.

“Sir!” Gabriel forced him onto the stool before kneeling, mindful of the broken glass. He turned up the gas as high as it would go to see the extent of the damage. Gabriel plucked the two pieces he saw from his hand and wrapped his hand in towling he shook free of any stray shards.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said. 

Gabriel hushed him. “It’s all right. You’re all right.” Gabriel kicked aside some of the glass and ran the tap into the basin. “We need to wash this out before we dress it.”

Mr. Boldwood allowed himself to be led. He was quiet again, as absent as he’d been when they’d arrived at the prison. His free hand plucked and worried at his other sleeve. Gabriel was as gentle as he could be as they washed the blood from his hand and patted it dry before dressing it in clean bandages Gabriel found in the cabinet.

With care he led Mr. Boldwood over the glass out of the room and down to the master bedroom. He was silent as Gabriel played valet, helping him out of his suit and into his night clothes. His only hesitation came as Gabriel turned down the counterpane on the bed. 

“Will you stay?” he asked.

“As long as you need me,” said Gabriel.

Mr. Boldwood settled into bed. Gabriel turned down the lights and made himself comfortable in a wingback chair near the dresser. As he contemplated finding a book from the library downstairs, Mr. Boldwood spoke.

“Gabriel, I’m frightened.”

Gabriel stood and pulled the chair to the side of the bed before sitting back down. A flash of light lit the windows of the room followed by a peal of thunder. Rain began to patter heavily against the window panes. He reached for Mr. Boldwood’s uninjured hand and clasped it tightly in his own. 

“I’ll be right here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to rest?” he asked.
> 
> Mr. Boldwood nodded. Gabriel took the bottle and added three drops to a glass at his bedside, filling it with water the rest of the way. 
> 
> Laudanum most likely, Gabriel thought. Sure enough, Mr. Boldwood was sleeping deeply within a few minutes. It always seemed to be laudanum.
> 
> Gabriel took a drink from his flask for the first time in nearly two days.

He might have expected a restless night. Gabriel would no more begin to nod in the chair at Mr. Boldwood’s bedside then would be roused by moans and cries at unseen horrors and the thrashings of a man confined by invisible bonds. 

He would murmur softly to the man, then. If he dared, he would grasp his forearm gently, not to restrain, but only to comfort with his presence. Sometimes it even worked, and he would subside and drift into slumber once more. 

Other times Mr. Boldwood would bolt straight up in bed, eyes wide with terror and sweat pouring from his face as he confronted whatever demons tormented him in his dreams. He would look desperately around the room before settling upon Gabriel’s features in the dim light of the single oil lamp turned low. His breathing would slow then, and he would quiet. There would be nothing said. A simple glance to reassure him of Gabriel’s continued presence before his eyes would close once more. 

The curtains began to grey with the light of false dawn and Gabriel scratched at the stubble on his chin, aware of his own sleepless state. Mr. Boldwood finally slept deeply, restfully, and Gabriel wouldn’t see him awoken before he’d slept his fill. He thought of the state of the bathroom and resolved to deal with it before the maid was troubled and the matter became gossip. 

He gently closed the latch of the door behind him, walking softly to the cupboard where he knew he would find a broom and pan to tend to the glass. It was the work of a moment to sweep up the shards and drain the bath. The mirror was in a state, hanging haphazardly from only one hook. He took it from the wall and removed it to the cupboard when he’d tidied away the broom and pan once again.

There was very little blood on the basin or the floor. There had seemed so much at the time—too much blood. It amazed Gabriel how much blood a body could hold. He’d never really appreciated it until he’d seen it all poured out, covering a bed, soaking through the sheets and pooling beneath the legs of his wife while she grew grey and cold and pale.

Troy’s death had been shocking to his younger self who had never seen blood spilt. He had been so arrogantly sure Boldwood should have paid for the deed with his life. 

Watching Bathsheba die wasn’t shocking. It felt like watching everything precious in the world slip through his fingers. It felt like a dream. It felt like a crime. It felt like theft—her life stolen from them in their very bed.

Gabriel no longer wished for death for anyone but himself.

The window was pouring in the true light of dawn now and Gabriel saw that the blood had long been cleaned away from where he’d been mindlessly wiping at the porcelain. He swallowed his bile against the tide of memory. He’d not had a drop to drink in nearly two days and though his hands were as steady as ever, his mind trembled with unease and longing for the surcease of a friendly dram.

He was surprised it had taken this long, if he were honest. He’d secreted a flask in his coat for the journey to Portland, but to his surprise had forgotten it entirely.

There was little time for drink now. The staff would be about and there were preparations to be made for the day’s labors. 

And Gabriel did not want Mr. Boldwood to awaken alone. 

He let himself back into the bedchamber where he found the man still slept on, deeply and peacefully. Gabriel settled himself back into the chair and waited for the man to wake, finding the sight of his chest rising and falling with steady breath quite effective in driving off the visions that haunted Gabriel’s dreams.

He woke slowly, gently, and Gabriel was grateful. 

“Good morning,” he said softly.

Gabriel’s voice rasped, dry and exhausted. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

There was little conversation as Gabriel drew a bath for Mr. Boldwood and by silent compact both acceded the necessity of his bathing under supervision. If Mr. Boldwood was at all reluctant to disrobe before Gabriel, he mastered himself with little difficulty, shrugging off his dressing gown and stepping into the bath with a low sigh of contentment.

Gabriel thought of several things he might have said in the moment and disregarded each as impudent. 

“Not many hot baths in prison,” said Boldwood, echoing Gabriel’s thoughts.

“I suppose not, sir.”

With another groan of satisfaction he dipped his head below the water to dampen his hair. The stream of water trailing from his hair and beard put gabriel in mind of a satre run afoul of a nyad. As he moved to wash his hair, his fingers caught in the roughly-cut curls, long free of any sort of hair treatment to ease their passage.

He’d once helped Bathsheba with this task on their honeymoon. He’d washed every inch of those silken tresses for her, having never before considered the labor involved in maintaining their length. It was a beautiful intimacy, broken only when she was finally dry from the bath, sitting soft and pink before the fire, and he’d offered to bob it for her at sheering time.

“Here, sir, let me,” said Gabriel as Boldwood struggled to untangle his hair, grown somewhat longer in prison. He took the comb and soap and gently began to work the soap into his hair. For a long while, the only sound was the susurration of the comb, the sounds of their breathing and the lapping of the water against the edge of the bathtub. Mr. Boldwood’s eyes had closed, apparently at his ease. Gabriel smiled. 

He was a handsome man, even as thin as he’d grown. 

“That should be better now,” he announced after a short while. 

“Mmm,” replied Mr. Boldwood. 

“If you can finish here, I’ll get your dressing gown.”

Mr. Boldwood looked up at Gabriel. “If you ever decide to give up farming, you’d make a wonderful valet.”

Gabriel responded with a rude gesture which thankfully received a smile if not the laughter he expected in response. Though it had been years since they’d been in close company, the friendship they’d enjoyed seemed intact enough to bear gentle teasing yet.

As Mr. Boldwood dressed, he wondered if he ought to bring up the incident with the mirror to Lady Keith. He hardly wanted to break confidence with Mr. Boldwood, but as she was devoted to his care, it seemed prudent that she should know.

However, two things became evident at the breakfast table when they sat to join her. Firstly, that she was entirely preoccupied with the business of Little Weatherbury farm and bringing her brother up to date on it’s management for the past five years. 

“After breakfast we might go over the ledgers, if that is agreeable to you, Mr. Oak?”

He nodded. As she discussed changes to the crops and percentages, several of his own men found him to receive their orders for the day.

Gabriel rubbed his eyes. “Do what you can with the grain, if any of it is salvageable after last night, get it into the rickyard and thatch it. I doubt it will come to much, but it will be better than nothing. I’ll be out later in the morning. With the rain last night, we should still be able to turn most of the fields over to the winter wheat.”

The second thing he realized was that Lady Keith was already aware of what had transpired the previous night and no mention of it would be forthcoming. She asked no questions of her brother when his bandaged hand became evident, rather, she soldiered on in her accounting of the land and properties as if they were a rosary she prayed against her brother’s ill health and troubled mind.

Gabriel’s heart sank. Mr. Boldwood suffered deeply and ignoring his pain would not serve to lessen it. If Lady Keith refused to address his difficulties, that responsibility would fall solely upon him. 

He’d thought he’d understood when she said she needed someone to care for her brother. He’d not thought she meant him to be the only one to care at all for the state he was in once she’d secured his release.

Drifting in these thoughts he'd missed something asked of him by Lady Keith. “Pardon?”

Her eyes implored him. He knew it was no lack of feeling she suffered. “I said, I’ve called for a doctor to see my brother today. Will you be available to attend?”

Gabriel nodded assent immediately. “Of course.”

“Are things at Everdene well, Gabriel?” asked Mr. Boldwood. “You seemed quite lost in your thoughts for a moment.”

Gabriel tried to look reassuring. “Fine. It’s been a hard year, but we’ll manage. When will the doctor arrive? I should plan to look in on my men before he comes.”

“Shortly after noon, I should think,” Lady Keith replied.

Gabriel thought longingly of his flask.

Gabriel had not seen the good physician since he’d buried Bathsheba. He’d been little use then, and he suspected even less use now, but for his employers’ sake he would listen attentively to the man and follow his instructions to the letter.

Mr. Boldwood sat on the edge of his bed in his shirtsleeves, collar unbuttoned as the doctor examined his chest and breathing, interrupted by occasional fits of coughing. 

“I’ll leave a tincture with you,” he told Gabriel. “Two or three drops in water or tea every six hours or so.”

Gabriel watched the doctor pack up his instruments and take his leave. Mr. Boldwood, for his part, looked quite exhausted by the ordeal.

“Do you want to rest?” he asked.

Mr. Boldwood nodded. Gabriel took the bottle and added three drops to a glass at his bedside, filling it with water the rest of the way. 

Laudanum most likely, Gabriel thought. Sure enough, Mr. Boldwood was sleeping deeply within a few minutes. It always seemed to be laudanum.

Gabriel took a drink from his flask for the first time in nearly two days. 

The stable was in as fine a condition as the day Mr. Boldwood was clapped in irons. The fields had suffered under the drought, but Gabriel had spared no labor or expense in maintaining them. Their yield was modest, but it would bring a good price. The sheep were healthy and productive as were the pigs. As he went through the books with Lady Keith she was astounded by their apparent good fortune while Everdene had been so dramatically diminished.

“Bathsheba insisted,” he said. “She wouldn’t see you or your brother coming home to find your home had been poorly stewarded.”

“We might never have come home at all, you realize.”

Gabriel smiled politely. “She never gave up hope.”

Lady Keith looked away in the direction of her brother’s room. “I hope he appreciates your loyalty. I wish there was more of the boy I remember in the man laying upstairs. I’ve never seen him so listless.”

“He’s endured much,” said Gabriel.

“So he has,” she agreed. “Unfortunately I must leave. I’ve been away as long as I dare.”

“Can we expect you again soon?”

Lady Keith smoothed her skirts over her knees. “I don’t know. I’m returning sole control of the estate to my brother.”

Gabriel was shocked. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Having seen you these past few days I believe I can trust you with my brother’s life. His fortune seems a rather small thing in comparison, wouldn’t you say?”

“Lady Keith, there is a difference—”

“I’ve never found fault with your bookkeeping or your management. You are possibly the only honest bailiff in Britain. If it makes you feel confident, you may pretend I’m peeking at the ledgers over your shoulder when you’re not looking.”

“And if he never recovers?”

Lady Keith stood, collecting herself. “You shall have half of the sale of the estate. The contract is already in the study. Shall we proceed?”

“I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous offer.”

“Don’t be absurd, Farmer Oak, of course you can. Every man must eat, even you, and I dare say if it comes to it, half the estate should just about put your affairs in order at Everdene, if I’m not much mistaken.”

Gabriel clutched the hat in his hand and examined the toes of his boots. “Thank you.”

“Gabriel,” she said. Her small hand came to rest upon his shoulder. “Whatever else we are to one another, I hope you know I’ve always thought of you as a dear friend. Once I met you and your wife, I had no trouble seeing why my brother was so fond of the pair of you. We Boldwoods are...a closed people, I should say. It takes a great deal to earn our trust, but once you have it, it’s unshakable.”

“Thank you. The feeling has always been mutual.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. I may not be in direct ownership of Little Weatherbury anymore, but you may always write if you need anything at all. And I do expect I’ll be by from time to time...the odd holiday, now and then.”

“I’ll look forward to your visits.”

“As will I. Now shall we attend to business?”

The clock ticked loudly in the hall. Mr. Boldwood’s breathing was unlabored, though slow and shallow.

Gabriel drank deeply of his flask and considered the portraits around the room.   
The nights were quiet in the house and they’d settled into a routine over the past few weeks. Mr. Boldwood would stir at half seven in the morning, take breakfast in a torpor, his eyes hazed by the opium and his thoughts generally unbothered by matters of business, housekeeping or, indeed, personal grooming. Gabriel would tend to all matters of business for both farms while he listlessly picked at his breakfast, then assisted with any of Mr. Boldwood’s personal needs until nearly ten at which time Mr. Boldwood’s hands would begin to tremble.

Gabriel would give him a glass of water with the tincture applied and he would sleep, shallowly and dreamlessly for several hours of the day only to arise again when the soporific effects of the drug eventually wore off and his agitation would become pronounced once more. In the early evening hours he would eat a few crumbs of whatever he was served, receive his final dose of laudanum and fall asleep until morning with Gabriel standing watch at his bedside. Occasionally, the drugs would wear off in the early morning hours and Mr. Boldwood would succumb to night terrors. Gabriel would wake him gently, give him more Laudanum and stay by his side until he once again drifted into dreamlessness. In the morning, they would begin again.

Gabriel would typically doze in the chair for a few hours if he could. If he couldn’t, he had his flask. While Mr. Boldwood slept, he had long hours alone with his thoughts, staring at the wallpaper and contemplating their situation.

By the end of the third week of near sleeplessness, Gabriel resolved things could not go on as they were. Mr. Boldwood was near starvation, his health was not improving, and Gabriel was not at all well. He grew increasingly short with his men, indifferent to the work, and he believed, now as he sat observing the portrait of Mr. Boldwood’s mother, that it had indeed animated itself.

Gabriel rubbed angrily at his eyes and stared down at the flask in his hand.

Was this to become their lives? His friend wasting away in the bed beside him while Gabriel slowly drank himself to death?

_If so, all the better to join his wife, and quickly._

Gabriel dropped the flask, shuddering at the thought.

No. No this would not stand. Whatever his late wife may have been, she would not have stood for her husband to become a drunkard or to end his life in despair. 

Gabriel looked to the bed where his friend, Mr. Boldwood lay. 

_He deserved better than this._

Gabriel sprung from his chair and took up the flask and the bottle of laudanum, raced to the sink in the bathroom and poured them both down the drain. As he looked up to view his worn reflection in the new mirror, he could very much understand the impulse to destroy it, and might have done so were he not conscious that there would be nothing to lull Mr. Boldwood back to sleep should he wake now.

His eyes were bloodshot and the bags beneath them purpled and bruised. His face wanted shaving and his skin was grey. He took a moment to splash some water on his face, then returned to the bedroom. His muscles were stiff and sore as he lowered himself back to the chair, but his mind was clearer than it had been for some time.

He didn’t know how he was going to restore them both to health, nor how he was going to cope with the terrors that would undoubtedly follow the withdrawal of the medicine. But that was a problem for tomorrow, Gabriel thought. For right now, there was the tick of the clock in the hall, the sound of even breaths from the bed, and the surety that however they faced the morning, it would be in full command of their faculties, together. 

He drifted in a fugue state for some time until Mr. Boldwood stirred, then began to thrash. 

Gabriel rose and sat beside him on the bed, gentling his movement with a touch. When he immediately woke, expecting another glass pressed into his hand and found none, he locked eyes with Gabriel.

Gabriel said nothing, though from his friend’s frightened expression he rather thought he didn’t need to. Mr. Boldwood began to tremble and Gabriel stilled his hand with his own. 

“It will be alright,” he said. “We’ll be alright.”

Boldwood sank back onto the bed, breath hitching with emotion. Gabriel held his hand, reclining himself until he was able to wrap an arm around him. “I’m here,” he said. “Try to rest.”

Mr. Boldwood clung to him feverishly until he eventually fell back asleep.

Gabriel woke by his side the following morning. For the first time in years, neither man was disturbed by nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You shouldn’t speak of murder with envy,” said William.
> 
> “Well I do! I envy you!” Gabriel shouted. “You were the better man. The more decisive man…” He trailed off, emotion catching in his throat. “If she’d been your wife, perhaps she might still be alive!”

Waking in Mr. Boldwood’s bed might have held a graver weight had Gabriel’s employer and friend not been quite so miserable without the laudanum. He woke with a soft whimper of pain, turning into Gabriel’s side to escape the light from the window.

Gabriel didn’t dare move as Mr. Boldwood still clung to him, fiercely. “Does your head ache?”

He nodded and gasped with the pain of movement. “It’s terrible,” he said.

Gabriel patted his shoulder and tried to gently extricate himself from Mr. Boldwood’s grip. Seeming to realize their position, Mr. Boldwood tried to withdraw too quickly and groaned with pain as he lowered himself to the bed. “I’m going to send for willow and meadowsweet.”

“You’ll come back?”

“Where else would I go?”

“I’ve been keeping you from your duties.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s nearly October, Mr. Boldwood. The orchards are cleared, the rickyards are full, and the animals are well tended to. My men have things well in hand.”

Mr. Boldwood subsided. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel snorted. “Save your thanks for when the poison is out of your system. I expect you’ll be hating me quite a lot before long.”

Several days later, pots of liniment littered the bedside cabinet alongside jars of willow bark and bottles of meadowsweet tincture. The pitcher of water had been upended and the water absorbed into the floor without interference. Damp cloths were strewn about the bed and the floor, discarded when they were no longer cool. 

The sheets were soaked with sweat again, and Gabriel had managed to bring a change of linen to the bed. He’d dismissed the maid from the room. There was little purpose to tidying it all away when it was only going to be soiled again so quickly. Mr. Boldwood rose weakly from the soiled bed and assisted Gabriel in changing it as best he could before all but collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion.

Gabriel’s own withdrawal was mild in comparison to that of Mr. Boldwood.

“You’ve now worn my vomit and slept in a pool of my perspiration, Gabriel. Call me William, please.”

Gabriel laughed weakly through the pain of his own aching head, sinking down onto the bed beside William. His hands shook terribly as he reached for the willow bark and knocked several bottles to the floor, though they thankfully remained unbroken.

“What a pair we make,” said Gabriel around the bark between his teeth, an arm slung over his eyes to block out the light. 

William patted his arm. “If anyone had to see me in this state, I’m glad it was you.”

“Likewise,” said Gabriel, realizing the truth of the sentiment as he said it. 

William retched over the side of the bed. “At least,” he panted. “I...found the pail that time.”

“Perhaps things are looking up,” said Gabriel, closing his eyes tightly as the room swam.

They discovered quickly that the terrors William experienced as the opium left his body were far worse than even those he’d suffered upon his return home. Gabriel shared the bed with him, both to sooth the nightmares and for expediency. Caring for William while undergoing his own purge of the drink could only be aided by close proximity, and William was hardly in a position to protest.

They made a picture of great pathos laying in William’s bed, sweating and suffering and moaning through the pain. But when their bodies exhausted themselves, unequal to the misery of chemical deprivation, there was also comfort to be found in their nearness. Some conversations, after all, are only truly possible with the lights out.

The night after the fourth or fifth day, they’d managed to bathe without incident, the bed was clean and seemed likely to remain so, and they began to envision an end to the sickness.

“When this is over,” William began. “Will you let me see the books? It hardly seems fair to have lain everything at your feet like this.”

Gabriel turned onto his side to face him. “Of course. It’s your estate.”

“And yours as well,” said William. 

“Sir—”

“Don’t call me sir when you’re wearing my nightgown, please.”

Gabriel laughed. “Very well. I know what your sister said but—”

“It was my suggestion. The estate is mine to keep or dispose of, and I chose the language of the contract. You’ve sacrificed too much. I can’t bear that.”

Gabriel sighed. “If it makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

“Good.”

“But seeing the Everdene books might restore me to full health.”

“I suppose we’ll never know.”

“Are things really as bad as all that?”

Gabriel turned onto his back, tracing the molding with his eyes as he tried to ignore the swelling shame in his chest. “I had to let go the remaining household staff at the end of the season to afford the wages for the few men I’ve been able to retain. If things don’t improve I’ll need to sell. The farm has been insolvent for the past three years.”

“How could you have let things come to this?” William asked, shock evident in his voice.

Gabriel turned back to him. “It was what she wanted,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “Bathsheba was adamant on that point.”

William turned away. “I cannot fathom that you do not hate me.”

Gabriel scoffed. “If smelling you for the past week didn’t arouse my ire, what power on earth do you imagine could compel me to do so?”

William didn’t laugh as Gabriel had hoped. “I hate myself every hour of every day that I am here because it means she is not. How can you even stand to look at me?”

Gabriel thought of a bloodied floor and a broken mirror. He drew close and stretched an arm around William, who relaxed into the embrace with a small shudder. Gabriel pressed his brow to William’s as he confessed. “Everything reminds me of her. _Everything_. You couldn’t remind me that she isn’t here any more than the empty house or the quiet rooms or the land she adored standing barren without her. When I see you, I’m reminded of who she was when she lived. A silly, impetuous girl who held stubbornly to her own opinion and principles, as opaque as they may have been to the rest of the world. The kind of woman who would reject your suit for fear of compromising her independence, then syphon off the fortune that provided that independence to preserve your fortune because she believed herself at fault for introducing Troy into your life in the first place.”

“She was not at fault! My actions were my own! My...mania, my obsession, my rage were not her doing!”

Gabriel squeezed the man’s shoulder beneath his hand. “I know. Believe me, it was a constant source of argument between us.”

“And still you don’t hate me.” 

“You were my friend and I forgave you long ago, but more than that, I look at you, and I feel horror that the greatest happiness of my life was bought with your freedom. I longed to destroy that profligate every single day, but only you had the strength to do it.”

“You shouldn’t speak of murder with envy,” said William.

“Well I do! I envy you!” Gabriel shouted. “You were the better man. The more decisive man…” He trailed off, emotion catching in his throat. “If she’d been your wife, perhaps she might still be alive!” 

William’s eyes were wide as Gabriel continued. “I as good as killed her,” he said. “The doctor said she couldn’t carry after we lost the first babe. We knew the risks and I let her convince me to try again anyway. She was so sick, William, she couldn’t keep anything down, and the doctor kept pouring the damned laudanum down her throat and I knew, _I knew_ it was killing them both, but I l _et him do it_. You ask me how I can tolerate _you_ when _I_ murdered the woman you loved?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said William. Gabriel protested. “It _wasn’t your fault_. Gabriel there was nothing you could have done. Could anyone in the world have dissuaded Bathsheba from a course she’d set herself upon?”

Gabriel’s breath hitched as he angrily scrubbed tears from his eyes. “Not likely.”

William smiled sadly. “She knew the risks she took and she took them anyway as she always did.” Gabriel began to calm himself. “You are the man who brought her joy no one else could. Not for lack of trying, I might add,” he said and Gabriel smiled sadly. “She blossomed here, and likely couldn’t have done so were it not for your assistance. You loved her and said nothing when I courted her. You supported me in my suit. You’re a good man and a true and loyal friend. I felt privileged that you wanted anything to do with me at all after... Gabriel, you of all people, make me want to be a better man.”

“Thank you,” said Gabriel, softly. Impulsively, he placed a chaste kiss on William’s forehead. “Thank you.”

The roles of master and servant had been irrevocably dissolved between them when they finally emerged from their sickroom. Though Gabriel made a perfunctory effort to return to respectful deference, his efforts were roundly ignored by William who scoffed at every sir and waved away any formal address. Gabriel was relieved, as the words had felt rather forced and unnatural in the face of all they’d suffered together. There was a simplicity to their company now that neither man seemed compelled to alter. 

On a walk together through the fields, William explained, “I have servants, Gabriel, I need a friend.”

Gabriel picked up a fallen stick and thrashed at some tall grasses along the wayside. The sky was overcast and threatened rain. The ground was still touched with dew and fairly damp from earlier rains. It was cool and the chill crept into Gabriel’s collar which he turned up against the mist and fog. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“You needn’t be so mindful of overstepping, I mean to say.”

Gabriel looked at him. “Is something on your mind?”

William fidgeted with his hands and cuffs. “No. No not really, I suppose. Although you’re awfully quiet and I’ve begun to feel as though I’m always going on at length.”

Gabriel smiled gently at his friend. “I don’t mind. I like to hear you talk.”

“Apparently, I can’t be stopped.”

Gabriel shook his head and stopped him. “William, you _are_ my friend. I’d have thought that much was plain by now. I’m not a demonstrative man by nature, but I would think my outburst the other evening made that more than clear.”

William nodded, distracted. “Of course you did, yes.”

“Then what troubles you? If you’re looking for more confessions, I have very few to make, I’m afraid.”

“ _No_ , no, not that. I would never press you for a confidence.”

Gabriel wracked his brain but could not fathom what vexed his friend so. 

“You did something...the other night,” William hedged.

Gabriel tried desperately to remember what on earth he’d done that had so upset William. “Did I hurt you in my sleep? Thrash you or something?”

“No, nothing like that. You...um…you kissed me.”

Gabriel stopped. “I suppose I did, yes.” It had felt like a natural expression of his affection for the man in the moment but he supposed it was possible he’d been mistaken and he’d offended William. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No! Don’t apologize! It was quite...I was quite moved. No one had ever…”

Gabriel could hardly believe such a thing. “What, no one?” 

_Such a lonely state of affairs_ , thought Gabriel. Little wonder William was behaving like an overwound watch around him. He took William’s face in his hands and pressed another kiss to his brow. 

William let out a shaking sigh. “You’re very kind,” he said.

“It really affects you so?” asked Gabriel in wonder.

William continued walking and Gabriel followed beside him. “I’m not accustomed to affection,” he explained.

“Well, you’re welcome to mine, as long as you wish it. I expect it does you good.”

“I expect you’re right,” he agreed easily. Their feet had carried them across the field to the horse paddock where several of the mares were grazing.

“You used to be quite fond of riding, as I recall,” said Gabriel.

William nodded, watching the horses with undisguised longing. “I’m sure I’d give them quite a start if I were to take it up again now.”

“How so?”

“I am…” William visibly struggled to find the words, gesturing instead, shaking his hands. “Nervous, to say the least.”

“You could master it.”

“I’m not sure—”

“—I am. Let’s get your saddle.”

The horses were readied and Gabriel found himself excited for the ride. Mr. Boldwood seemed determined, though whether for his own sake or Gabriel’s, he couldn’t say. Gabriel mounted and saw William still contemplating the reins, his hand still upon the saddle. 

“Do you need a hand up?” he asked.

William took a deep breath and mounted. For a tense moment he simply sat, and when the horse did not immediately throw him, Gabriel watched as a smile overtook his face.

“Shall we ride out to the millpond and back?” he asked.

William nodded and together they walked their horses out of the yard and over the fields, careful not to disturb the new furrows. At the edge of the meadow, Gabriel looked to William. He seemed confident in his saddle, relaxed and assured. It was a sight he’d not seen in so long it immediately transported him to a time when he found himself reluctantly charmed by his romantic rival, so much so, he entered into his confidence and his employ against all common sense.

Gabriel grinned at him. “I’ll race you there!” With a cry, Gabriel shot off through the meadow, hearing the gallop of William’s horse close behind. 

Mr. Boldwood had always been the better horseman, and before Gabriel knew it, he was trailing William. As the terrain changed from meadow to thicket, Gabriel’s calves were whipped by low branches of young coppiced trees. Suddenly he heard a sharp whinny and a cry from ahead. Gabriel pushed his horse on through the bushes and found William curled upon the ground, his mare nowhere to be found.

“William! My God, are you all right?” Gabriel halted and swung down quickly from the saddle.

As he approached he saw William was dazed. Dirt streaked his clothes and face marking the trail of his fall. Gabriel kneeled beside him, checking for signs of injury. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

William shook his head. “Only my pride,” he said, a grimace on his face. He turned away from Gabriel, and Gabriel saw he was trembling. “I couldn’t see you any longer,” he explained. “I couldn’t see you and I...I lost control,” he confessed in a whisper.

Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “It’s alright.”

William scrubbed his face with his hands. “We need to get my horse.”

“We’ll find her. Come on,” said Gabriel, helping William to his feet. “You can ride with me.”

William froze. “I don’t think I can.”

“Of course you can,” said Gabriel. You’ll be fine.”

William began to struggle to breathe. “I...I can’t…”

Gabriel stepped closer and reached out to take William’s arm. He moved rigidly, like an automaton but didn’t resist as Gabriel pulled him into the circle of his arms, their chests pressed tightly together. Gabriel cradled his head next to his collar and placed his hand against William’s back. “Breathe. Match your breaths to mine. Come on,” he prompted.

As Gabriel held him, gradually William’s breaths slowed and evened. “There,” he said. “That’s it. I’ll be right with you.” Gabriel released him and mounted, reaching a hand down to William. 

William took it and pulled himself up into the saddle behind Gabriel. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s waist and pressed his body against Gabriel’s back. 

After a moment, Gabriel felt him relax and Gabriel turned in the saddle. Gabriel found himself struggling to master his own breathing as he reached for William and pressed their brows together. 

“There you are,” said Gabriel. He released William and together they rode off in search of the wayward mare.

The bathroom was filled with steam as Gabriel gently washed William’s shoulders. 

“Everything hurts,” William complained.

“It’s a terrible condition that comes from falling off one’s horse,” quipped Gabriel, wringing out the flannel and applying more soap. 

William sank further into the bath in response, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

“I was thrown from my horse last year,” he confessed. William looked up in surprise. “I’m no great horseman, but it was the first time in memory since I learned to ride when I was twelve.”

“What happened?” asked William.

“We were plowing the west field for barley and the plow caught. The ground had been fallow for a few years and had grown hard.”

“You weren’t...riding the plow horse, were you?”

“No,” Gabriel scoffed. “I was alongside her on my own horse. I tried… _encouraging_ her to pull a bit harder, but she was a stubborn old girl and she bucked. She startled me, I accidentally spurred my horse and the next thing I knew I was looking up at the sky and several worried farmhands from my back.”

William laughed louder than Gabriel could recall having ever heard him laugh.

“I’m glad you’re amused. I could have been killed, you know,” teased Gabriel as he reached to wipe off the dirt from William’s face. 

William caught his hand in his. “Were you seriously hurt?”

Gabriel softened. “Only my pride.”

William pressed Gabriel’s hand to his cheek and closed his eyes. “Thank God.”

No longer barred from William’s bedchamber, the maids had resumed their habit of removing the chair from Mr. Boldwood’s bedside in the morning for Gabriel to once again drag to the head of the bedstead in the evening.

“What are you doing?” asked William. He’d stiffly managed to get himself into bed and was now watching Gabriel curiously from under the blankets.

Gabriel froze. “I’m sorry. I thought… Do you no longer wish for me to stay while you sleep?”

William’s eyes widened and he gave a self deprecating laugh. “I don’t think the household is prepared for my terrors to return, no. The chair, Gabriel,” he clarified. “Are you not planning to sleep?”

Gabriel looked at the chair in his hand. “I don’t imagine I’d be much use to you asleep.”

William sighed as if he was being very dull, and perhaps he was. A moment later William turned down the covers from the empty side of the bed. “You’ve shared with me before and we both managed to sleep the entire night without my waking the entire village.”

Gabriel thought of William in his arms, trembling. He thought of being held tightly to William’s body as he drove his horse mindlessly to follow the path of a skittish mare. 

He thought of kisses bestowed carelessly to William’s brow.

Gabriel deliberately did not think as he exchanged his clothing for a borrowed nightshirt and slid into the bed beside William, pulling the covers tightly around them. He closed his eyes and wished desperately for sleep, though he was tense enough to shake out of his own skin.

“Gabriel,” said William. “Would you… would you hold me, please.”

Gabriel’s breath shuddered. “Of course,” he said. Gabriel rolled to his side and William snugged himself tightly between his arms.

Gabriel didn’t think about how the scent of him so close immediately calmed him, or how restful it was to have William safe in his arms. He didn’t think about the nape of William’s neck, so close he could count the hairs. So familiar he could tell how long it had been since his hair had been barbered. 

So dear he ached with the desire to kiss the vulnerable skin already so close to his lips.

Gabriel took another shuddering breath. “Good night, William.”

“Goodnight, Gabriel,” came William’s answer.

As the warmth of William’s body bled through their nightclothes to warm Gabriel’s flesh, he found himself drowsing.

Gabriel didn’t bother to think about what it all meant, because his heart remembered, even if Gabriel was determined to ignore the evidence of his senses.

Gabriel’s last thought before sleep was of fields, cleared and open, the smell of hay, and the feel of coming home after a long harvest.


End file.
